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Washington 

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^LINCOLN 
IN  POETRY 


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Jlffoaatrnq 


Washington  and  Lincoln 
in  Poetry 


POEMS  CHOSEN  BY  A 
COMMITTEE  OF  THE 
CARNEGIE  LIBRARY 
SCHOOL   ASSOCIATION 


N£ 


NEW  YORK 

THE  H.  W.  WILSON  COMPANY 

1927 


Published  January,   1927 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


for,  g-j 


PREFACE 

As  in  the  other  booklets  of  this  series,  the  poems  are 
printed  on  one  side  of  the  page  only  so  that  they  may  be 
mounted  and  used  separately  if  desired.  The  poems  are 
within  a  child's  comprehension. 

The  proceeds  derived  from  the  publication  of  these  book- 
lets are  used  to  increase  the  Student  Loan  Fund  of  the 
Association. 

This  booklet  is  the  last  of  a  series  of  holiday  poetry  book- 
lets compiled  by  a  poetry  committee  of  Alumnae  of  the  Car- 
negie Library  School.  The  committee  consists  of:  Dorothy 
Grout  of  East  Cleveland,  Ohio;  Mary  Wilkinson  of  Balti- 
more, Maryland;  Jasmine  Britton  of  Los  Angeles,  California; 
Grace  Darling  of  Boston,  Massachusetts;  Alice  Stoeltzing  of 
Pittsburgh,  Pennsylvania;  and  Dorothy  Hayes  of  Hinsdale, 
Illinois. 

Mildred  P.  Harrington, 
Chairman   of   the  Poetry   Committee, 
Carnegie  Library  School  Association. 


619321 


CONTENTS 

Washington 

At  the  Tomb  of  Washington  1 

Clinton  Scollard 
Epitaph  on  Washington 2 

Anonymous 
George   Washington  3 

Anonymous 
George   Washington   4 

John  Hall  Ingham 
Inscription  at  Mount  Vernon  5 

Anonymous 
A  Man  _ _ 6 

Clinton  Scollard 
Mount  Vernon,  the  Home  of  Washington  _ 7 

William  Day 
Old  Song  Written  During  Washington's  Life  — 8 

Anonymous 
Ship  of  State  9 

Henry   Wadsworth    Longfellow 
Tribute  to  Washington  1 0 

From  a  London  Newspaper 
Union  and  Liberty  1  1 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 
Washington   13 

Lord  Byron 
Washington    14 

James  Russell  Lowell 
Washington   15 

Geraldine  Meyrich 
Washington    16 

Harriet  Monroe 
Washington    18 

Rev.  Denis  O'Crowley 
Washington    19 

John  A.   Prentice 
Washington    20 

Mary  Wingate 
Washington  Monument  by  Night  2 1 

Carl  Sandburg 
Washington's  Birthday  22 

Arthur  J.   Burdick 
Washington's  Monument  23 

Anonymous 
Washington's  Tomb  24 

Ruth  Lawrence 
Washington's  Vow  25 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 
Young    Washington    26 

Arthur  Guiterman 
An  Additional  List  of  Poems  with  Sources 70 


CONTENTS— Continued 

Lincoln 

Abraham  Lincoln  28 

A.  S.  Ames 
Abraham  Lincoln  29 

Samuel  Valentine  Cole 
Abraham  Lincoln  3 1 

Richard  Henry  Stoddard 
Abraham  Lincoln,   the   Master   32 

Thomas  Curtis  Clark 
Abraham  Lincoln  Walks  at  Midnight  33 

Vachel  Lindsay 
Cenotaph  of  Lincoln  _ 34 

James  T.  McKay 
From  "The  Gettysburg  Ode."  35 

Bayard  Taylor 
The  Hand  of  Lincoln  36 

Edmund  Clarence  Stedman 
He  Leads   Us  Still  38 

Arthur  Guiterman 
A  Hero  39 

Florence  Earle  Coates 
His  Face  40 

Florence  Earle  Coates 
Hush'd  Be  the  Camps  Today  42 

Walt  Whitman 
Lincoln    43 

Anonymous 
Lincoln    44 

George  Henry  Boker 
Lincoln    45 

John  Vance  Cheney 
Lincoln    47 

Jane  L.  Hardy 
Lincoln    48 

Vachel  Lindsay 
Lincoln    49 

James  Whitcomb  Riley 
Lincoln    50 

Corinne  Roosevelt  Robinson 
Lincoln   Leads   5  1 

Minna  Irving 
The  Lincoln  Statue  52 

W.   F.   Collins 
Lincoln,  the  Man  of  the   People  53 

Edwin  Markham 
The  Man  of  Peace  55 

Bliss  Carman 
The  M  aster  5  6 

Edwin  Arlington  Robinson 
Nancy   Hanks   58 

Harriet  Monroe 
O  Captain,  My  Captain  60 

Walt  Whitman 
On  a  Bust  of  Lincoln  61 

Clinton  Scollard 


CONTENTS— Continued 

Our   Martyr-Chief   62 

James  Russell  Lowell 
President   Lincoln's   Grave  _      64 

Caroline  A.   Mason 
To  Borglum's  Seated  Statue  of  Abraham  Lincoln 65 

Charlotte  B.  Jordan 
To  the  Memory  of  Abraham  Lincoln  66 

William  Cullen  Bryant 
Tolling    67 

Lucy  Larcom 
Young   Lincoln    _ 68 

Edwin  Markham 
An  Additional  List  of  Poems  with  Sources  71 


AT   THE   TOMB    OF   WASHINGTON 

Here  let  the  brows  be  bared 
Before  the  land's  great  son, 

He  who  undaunted  dared, 
Our  Washington! 

From  dole,  despair  and  doubt, 

Deceit  and  enmity, 
He  led  us  up  and  out 

To  Victory. 

A  Pharos  in  the  night, 

A  pillar  in  the  dawn, 
By  his  inspiring  light 

May  we  fare  on! 

Day  upon  hastening  day 
Still  let  us  reverence  him; 

Fame,  never,  never  may 
His  laurels  dim! 

Clinton  Scollard. 


Included  fcp  permission  of  the  author. 


EPITAPH   ON   WASHINGTON 

The  defender  of  his  country, — the  founder  of  liberty, 

The  friend  of  man, 

History  and  tradition  are  explored  in  vain 

For  a  parallel  to  his  character. 

In  the  annals  of  modern  greatness 

He  stands  alone; 
And  the  noblest  names  of  antiquity 
Lose  their  lustre  in  his  presence. 
Born  the  benefactor  of  mankind, 
He  united  all  the  greatness  necessary 
To  an  illustrious  career. 
Nature  made  him  great, 
He  made  himself  virtuous. 
Called  by  his  Country  to  the  defense  of  her  liberties, 
He  triumphantly  vindicated  the  rights  of  humanity, 

And,  on  the  pillars  of  National  Independence, 
Laid  the  foundation  of  a  great  Republic. 

Twice  invested  with  Supreme  Magistracy 
By  the  unanimous  vote  of  a  free  people, 
He  surpassed,  in  the  Cabinet, 
The  glories  of  the  field, 
And,  voluntarily  resigning  the  scepter  and  the  sword, 
Retired  to  the  shades  of  private  life; 
A  spectacle  so  new,  and  so  sublime, 
Was  contemplated  with  profoundest  admiration, 
And  the  name  of  Washington, 
Adding  new  lustre  to  humanity, 
Resounded  to  the  remotest  regions  of  the  earth. 
Magnanimous  in  youth, 
Glorious  through  life, 
Great  in  death; 
His  highest  ambition,  the  happiness  of  mankind; 
His  noblest  victory,  the  conquest  of  himself, 
Bequeathing  to  posterity  the  inheritance  of  his  fame. 
And  building  his  monument  in  the  hearts  of  his  Countrymen, 
He  lived — the  ornament  of  the  Eighteenth  Century; 
He  died,  regretted  by  a  mourning  world. 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON 

Only  a  baby,  fair  and  small, 

Like  many  another  baby  son, 
Whose  smiles  and  tears  come  swift  at  call; 
Who  ate,  and  slept,  and  grew,  that's  all — 

The  infant  Washington. 

Only  a  boy,  like  other  boys, 

With  tasks  and  studies,  sports  and  fun; 
Fond  of  his  books  and  games  and  toys; 
Living  his  childish  griefs  and  joys — 

The  little  Washington. 

Only  a  lad,  awkward  and  shy, 

Skilled  in  handling  a  horse  or  gun; 
Mastering  knowledge  that,  by  and  by, 
Should  aid  him  in  duties  great  and  high — 
The  youthful  Washington. 

Only  a  man  of  finest  bent, 

Hero  of  battles  fought  and  won; 

Surveyor,  General,  President, 

Who  served  his  country,  and  dies  content — 
The  patriot  Washington. 

Only — ah!  what  was  the  secret,  then, 
Of  his  being  America's  honored  son? 

Why  was  he  famed  above  other  men? 

His  name  upon  every  tongue  and  pen — 
The  illustrious  Washington. 

A  mighty  brain,  a  will  to  endure, 

Passions  subdued,  a  slave  to  none, 
A  heart  that  was  brave  and  strong  and  sure, 
A  soul  that  was  noble  and  great  and  pure, 
A  faith  in  God  that  was  held  secure — 
This  was  George  Washington. 

Anonymous. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

This  was  the  man  God  gave  us  when  the  hour 

Proclaimed  the  dawn  of  Liberty  begun; 

Who  dared  a  deed,  and  died  when  it  was  done, 

Patient  in  triumph,  temperate  in  power, — 

Not  striving  like  the  Corsican  to  tower 

To  heaven,  nor  like  great  Philip's  greater  son 

To  win  the  world  and  weep  for  worlds  unwon, 

Or  lose  the  star  to  revel  in  the  flower. 

The  lives  that  serve  the  eternal  verities 

Alone  do  mould  mankind,  Pleasure  and  pride 

Sparkle  awhile  and  perish,  as  the  spray 

Smoking  across  the  crests  of  the  cavernous  seas 

Is  impotent  to  hasten  or  delay 

The  everlasting  surges  of  the  tide. 

John  Hall  Ingham. 


INSCRIPTION  AT  MOUNT  VERNON 

Washington,  the  brave,  the  wise,  the  good. 

Supreme  in  war,  in  council,  and  in  peace. 

Valiant  without  ambition,  discreet  without  fear, 
confident  without  presumption. 

In  disaster  calm ;  in  success,  moderate ;  in  all,  himself. 

The  hero,  the  patriot,  the  Christian. 

The  father  of  nations,  the  friend  of  mankind, 

Who,  when  he  had  won  all,  renounced  all,  and  sought 
in  the  bosom  of  his  family  and  of  nature, 
retirement,  and  in  the  hope  of  religion, 
immortality. 

Anonymous. 


A  MAN! 

About  his  brow  the  laurel  and  the  bay 

Was  often  wreathed, — on  this  our  memory  dwells 
Upon  whose  bier  in  reverence  today 

We  lay  these  immortelles. 

His  was  a  vital,  virile,  warrior  soul; 

If  force  were  needed,  he  exalted  force; 
Unswerving  as  the  pole  star  to  the  pole, 

He  held  his  righteous  course. 

He  smote  at  Wrong,  if  he  believed  it  Wrong, 
As  did  the  Knight,  with  stainless  accolade; 

He  stood  for  Right,  unfalteringly  strong, 
Forever  unafraid. 

With  somewhat  of  the  savant  and  the  sage, 
He  was,  when  all  is  said  and  sung,  a  man, 

The  flower  imperishable  of  this  valient  age, — 
A  true  American! 

Clinton  Scollard. 


Included  by  permission  of  the  author  and  The  Sun. 

6 


MOUNT  VERNON,   THE   HOME   OF 
WASHINGTON 

There  dwelt  the  Man,  the  flower  of  human  kind, 
Whose  visage  mild  bespoke  his  nobler  mind. 

There  dwelt  the  Soldier,  who  his  sword  ne'er  drew 
But  in  a  righteous  cause,  to  Freedom  true. 

There  dwelt  the  Hero,  who  ne'er  killed  for  fame, 
Yet  gained  more  glory  than  a  Caesar's  name. 

There  dwelt  the  Statesman,  who,  devoid  of  art, 
Gave  soundest  counsels  from  an  upright  heart; 

And,  O  Columbia,  by  thy  sons  caressed, 
There  dwelt  the  Father  of  the  realms  he  blessed; 
Who  no  wish  felt  to  make  his  mighty  praise, 
Like  other  chiefs,  the  means  himself  to  raise; 
But  there  retiring,  breathed  in  pure  renown, 
And  felt  a  grandeur  that  disdained  a  crown. 

William  Day. 


OLD    SONG    WRITTEN    DURING    WASHING- 
TON'S   LIFE 

Americans,  rejoice; 

While  songs  employ  the  voice, 

Let  trumpets  sound. 
The  thirteen  stripes  display 
In  flags  and  streamers  gay, 
'Tis  Washington's  birthday, 

Let  joy  abound. 

Long  may  he  live  to  see 
This  land  of  liberty 

Flourish  in  peace; 
Long  may  he  live  to  prove 
A  grateful  people's  love, 
And  late  to  heaven  remove, 

Where  joys  ne'er  cease. 

Fill  the  glass  to  the  brink, 
Washington's  health  we'll  drink, 

'Tis  his  birthday. 
Glorious  deeds  he  has  done, 
By  him  our  cause  is  won, 
Long  live  great  Washington! 

Huzza!     Huzza! 

Anonymous. 


THE   SHIP    OF   STATE 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State! 

Sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great! 

Humanity  with  all  its  fears, 

With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 

Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate! 

We  know  what  master  laid  thy  keel, 

What  Workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel, 

Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 

What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat, 

In  what  a  forge  and  what  a  heat 

Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope! 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock, 

'Tis  of  the  wave  and  not  the  rock; 

'Tis  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 

And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale! 

In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest's  roar, 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea! 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 

Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 

Are  all  with  thee, — are  all  with  thee! 

Henry  Wadsrvorth  Longfellow. 


Included  by  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  Company. 


TRIBUTE  TO  WASHINGTON 

Great  without  pomp,  without  ambition  brave, 
Proud,  not  to  conquer  fellow-men,  but  save; 
Friend  to  the  weak,  a  foe  to  none  but  those 
Who  plan  their  greatness  on  their  brethren's  woes; 
Aw'd  by  no  titles — undefil'd  by  lust — 
Free  without  faction — obstinately  just; 
Warm'd  by  religion's  sacred,  genuine  ray, 
That  points  to  future  bliss  the  unerring  way; 
Yet  ne'er  control'd  by  superstition's  laws, 
That  worst  of  tyrants  in  the  noblest  cause. 

From  a  London  Newspaper. 


10 


UNION  AND   LIBERTY 

Flag  of  the  heroes  who  left  us  their  glory, 

Borne  through  their  battle-fields'  thunder  and  flame. 
Blazoned  in  song  and  illumined  in  story, 

Wave  o'er  us  all,  who  inherit  their  fame! 
Up  with  our  banner  bright, 
Sprinkled  with  starry  light, 
Spread  its  fair  emblems  from  mountain  to  shore, 
While  through  the  sounding  sky 
Loud  rings  the  Nation's  cry, — 
UNION  AND  LIBERTY!  ONE  EVERMORE! 

Light  of  our  firmament,  guide  of  our  Nation, 

Pride  of  her  children,  honored  afar, 
Let  the  wide  beams  of  thy  full  constellation 
Scatter  each  cloud  that  would  darken  a  star! 
Up  with  our  banner  bright, 
Sprinkled  with  starry  light, 
Spread  its  fair  emblems  from  mountain  to  shore, 
While  through  the  sounding  sky 
Loud  rings  the  Nation's  cry, — 
UNION  AND  LIBERTY!  ONE  EVERMORE! 

Empire  unsceptred!  what  foe  shall  assail  thee, 

Bearing  the  standard  of  Liberty's  van? 
Think  not  the  God  of  thy  fathers  shall  fail  thee, 
Striving  with  men  for  the  birthright  of  man! 
Up  with  our  banner  bright, 
Sprinkled  with  starry  light, 
Spread  its  fair  emblems  from  mountain  to  shore, 
While  through  the  sounding  sky 
Loud  rings  the  Nation's  cry, — 
UNION  AND  LIBERTY!   ONE  EVERMORE! 


II 


Yet,  if  by  madness  and  treachery  blighted, 

Dawns  the  dark  hour  when  the  sword  thou  must  draw, 
Then  with  the  arms  of  thy  million  united, 

Smite  the  bold  traitors  to  Freedom  and  Law! 
Up  with  our  banner  bright, 
Sprinkled  with  starry  light, 
Spread  its  fair  emblems  from  mountain  to  shore, 
While  through  the  sounding  sky 
Loud  rings  the  Nation's  cry, — 
UNION  AND  LIBERTY!  ONE  EVERMORE! 

Lord  of  the  Universe !  shield  us  and  guide  us, 

Trusting  Thee  always,  through  shadow  and  sun! 
Thou  hast  united  us,  who  shall  divide  us? 

Keep  us,  oh  keep  us  the  MANY  IN  ONE! 
Up  with  our  banner  bright, 
Sprinkled  with  starry  light, 
Spread  its  fair  emblems  from  mountain  to  shore, 
While  through  the  sounding  sky, 
Loud  rings  the  Nation's  cry, — 
UNION  AND  LIBERTY!  ONE  EVERMORE! 

Oliver  W .  Holmes 


Included  by  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  Company. 

12 


WASHINGTON 

Where  may  the  wearied  eye  repose 
When  gazing  on  the  Great; 

Where  neither  guilty  glory  glows, 
Nor  despicable  state? 

Yes — one — the  first — the  last — the  best — 

The  Cincinnatus  of  the  West, 
Whom  envy  dare  not  hate, 

Bequeath  the  name  of  Washington, 

To  make  men  blush  there  was  but  one! 

Lord  Byron. 


13 


WASHINGTON 

Soldier  and  statesman,  rarest  unison; 

High-poised  example  of  great  duties  done 

Simply  as  breathing,  a  world's  honors  worn 

As  life's  indifferent  gifts  to  all  men  born; 

Dumb  for  himself,  unless  it  were  to  God, 

But  for  his  barefoot  soldiers  eloquent, 

Tramping  the  snow  to  corral  where  they  trod, 

Held  by  his  awe  in  hollow-eyed  content; 

Modest,  yet  firm  as  Nature's  self;  unblamed 

Save  by  the  men  his  nobler  temper  shamed ; 

Never  seduced  through  show  of  present  good 

By  other  than  unsetting  lights  to  steer 

New-trimmed  in  Heaven,  nor  than  his  steadfast  mood 

More  steadfast,  far  from  rashness  as  from  fear; 

Rigid,  but  with  himself  first,  grasping  still 

In  swerveless  poise  the  wave-beat  helm  of  will; 

Not  honored  then  or  now  because  he  wooed 

The  popular  voice,  but  that  he  still  withstood; 

Broad-minded,  higher-souled,  there  is  but  one 

Who  was  all  this  and  ours,  and  all  men's, — Washington. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 
(From  "Under  the  Elm") 


Included  by  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  Company. 


WASHINGTON 

It  seems  so  simple  now,  that  life  of  thine, 
To  us  who  from  these  turgid  days  look  back, 
As  mariners  from  'neath  a  stormy  wrack 
Peer  out  and  see  a  verdant  island  shine 
Behind  them,  where  the  storm  has  left  no  sign 
Save  freshness  and  new  glory  in  its  track; 
To  us,  who  midst  sunk  rocks  still  turn  and  tack, 
So  seem  thy  days  all  happy,  free  and  fine. 

Yet,  wert  thou  here,  wouldst  not  thy  piercing  gaze, 
Thy  steady  hand  and  strong,  compelling  will, 
Unravel  the  mixt  strands  of  good  and  ill 
That  so  perplex?     In  youth  through  wildwood  maze 
Thy  skill  surveyed  clear  paths;  and  later,  lo! 
The  way  was  straight  because  thou  mad'st  it  so. 

Ceraldine  Meyrich. 


Included  by  permission  of  Overland  Monthly. 

15 


WASHINGTON 

(From  the  "Columbian  Ode") 

When  foolish  kings,  at  odds  with  swift-paced  Time, 

Would  strike  that  banner  down, 
A  nobler  knight  than  ever  writ  or  rhyme 
Has  starred  with  fame's  bright  crown 
Through  armed  hosts  bore  it  free  to  float  on  high 
Beyond  the  clouds,  a  light  that  cannot  die. 

Ah,  hero  of  our  younger  race, 

Strong  builder  of  a  temple  new, 

Ruler  who  sought  no  lordly  place, 

Warrior  who  sheathed  the  sword  he  drew! — 

Lover  of  men,  who  saw  afar 

A  world  unmarred  by  want  or  war, 

Who  knew  the  path,  and  yet  forbore 

To  tread  till  all  men  should  implore; 

Who  saw  the  light,  and  led  the  way 

Where  the  grey  world  might  greet  the  day; 

Father  and  leader,  prophet  sure, 

Whose  will  in  vast  works  shall  endure. 
How  shall  we  praise  him  on  this  day  of  days, 
Great  son  of  fame  who  has  no  need  of  praise? 

How  shall  we  praise  him?    Open  wide  the  doors 

Of  the  fair  temple  whose  broad  base  he  laid. 

Through  its  white  halls  a  shadowy  cavalcade 

Of  heroes  moves  on  unresounding  floors — 

Men  whose  brawned  arms  upraised  these  columns  high, 

And  reared  the  towers  that  vanish  in  the  sky — 

The  strong  who,  having  wrought,  can  never  die. 

And  here,  leading  a  gallant  host,  comes  one 

Who  held  a  warring  nation  in  his  heart; 

Who  knew  love's  agony,  but  had  no  part 

In  love's  delight;  whose  mighty  task  was  done 

Through  blood  and  tears  that  we  might  walk  in  joy, 

And  this  day's  rapture  feel  no  sad  alloy. 

Around  him  heirs  of  bliss,  whose  bright  brows  wear 

Palm-leaves  amid  their  laurels  ever  fair. 


16 


Gaily  they  come,  as  though  the  drum 

Beat  out  the  call  their  glad  hearts  knew  so  well; 

Brothers  once  more,  dear  as  of  yore, 

Who  in  a  noble  conflict  nobly  fell. 

Their  blood  washed  pure  yon  banner  in  the  sky, 

And  quenched  the  brands  under  these  arches  high — 

The  brave  who,  having  fought,  can  never  die. 

Harriet  Monroe. 


Revised  by  the  author. 

Included  by  permission  of  the  author  and  The  Macmillan  Company. 


17 


WASHINGTON 

Thou  gallant  Chief  whose  glorious  name 
Doth  still  adorn  the  Book  of  Fame: 
Whose  deeds  shall  live  while  freemen  prize 
The  cause  for  which  the  Patriot  dies, 
Long  to  Columbia  may'st  thou  be 
The  beacon  light  of  Liberty. 

Rev.  Denis  O'Crowley. 


18 


WASHINGTON 

Our  Nation's  birth  gave  history  your  name, 

Recording  on  its  pages  your  great  deeds. 
No  hesitation  marred  when  duty  came, 

No  clouds  obscured  from  you  your  country's  needs. 
Pure  were  the  thoughts  you  planted  in  man's  heart, 

Nor  is  your  harvest  fully  garnered  yet; 
Still  grows  and  thrives  the  tree  that  had  its  start, 

In  hallowed  ground  with  honest  purpose  wet. 
Each  passing  day  your  wisdom  is  revealed, 

Each  added  year  some  richer  promise  gives; 
Your  presence  led  our  fathers  in  the  field, 

Your  spirit  leads  us  still  to  that  which  lives 
In  Liberty  and  Peace,  for  which  you  fought 

To  gain  Eternity,  the  goal  you  sought. 

John  A.  Prentice. 


Included  by  permission  of  Overland  Monthly. 

19 


WASHINGTON 

O  noble  brow,  so  wise  in  thought! 

O  heart,  so  true!  O  soul  unbought! 

O  eye,  so  keen  to  pierce  the  night 

And  guide  the  "ship  of  state"  aright! 

O  life  so  simple,  grand  and  free, 

The  humblest  still  may  turn  to  thee. 

O  king,  uncrowned!  O  prince  of  men! 

When  shall  we  see  thy  like  again? 

The  century,  just  passed  away, 

Has  felt  the  impress  of  thy  sway, 

While  youthful  hearts  have  stronger  grown 

And  made  thy  patriot  zeal  their  own. 

In  marble  hall  or  lowly  cot, 

Thy  name  hath  never  been  forgot. 

The  world  itself  is  richer,  far, 

For  the  clear  shining  of  a  star. 

And  loyal  hearts  in  years  to  run 

Shall  turn  to  thee,  O  Washington. 

Mar])  Wingate. 


20 


WASHINGTON    MONUMENT   BY   NIGHT 

1 
The  stone  goes  straight. 
A  lean  swimmer  dives  into  night  sky, 
Into  half-moon  mist. 

2 
Two  trees  are  coal  black. 
This  is  a  great  white  ghost  between. 
It  is  cool  to  look  at. 
Strong  men,  strong  women,  come  here. 

3 
Eight  years  is  a  long  time 
To  be  fighting  all  the  time. 

4 
The  republic  is  a  dream. 
Nothing  happens  unless  first  a  dream. 

5 
The  wind  bit  hard  at  Valley  Forge  one  Christmas. 
Soldiers  tied  rags  on  their  feet. 
Red  footprints  wrote  on  the  snow. 
.     .     .     and  stone  shoots  into  stars  here 
.     .     .     into  half -moon  mist  to-night. 

6 
Tongues  wrangled  dark  at  a  man. 
He  buttoned  his  overcoat  and  stood  alone. 
In  a  snowstorm,  red  hollyberries,  thoughts, 
he  stood  alone. 

7 
Women  said:  He  is  lonely 
.     .     .    fighting    .     .     .    fighting    .     .     .    eight  years. 

8 
The  name  of  an  iron  man  goes  over  the  world. 
It  takes  a  long  time  to  forget  an  iron  man. 

9 


Carl  Sandburg. 
From  "Slabs  of  the  Sunburnt  West." 

Included  by  permission  of  the  author  and  Harcourl,  Brace  and  Com- 
pany. 

21 


WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY 

All  honor  to  that  day  which  long  ago 

Gave  birth  to  him  who  Freedom's  cause  espoused; 
Who,  by  his  ardor  in  the  sacred  fight, 

The  fire  and  strength  of  patriots  aroused; 
Who  knew  no  master,  save  that  One  divine 

Whose  strength  was  his,  who  knew  no  fear,  save  one- 
The  fear  of  doing  wrong!     All  hail  the  day 

That  gave  to  Freedom's  cause  George  Washington. 

Years  come  and  go,  and  generations  fall 

Into  the  dust.    The  world  its  heroes  gives. 
They  step  upon  the  stage,  then  pass  away 

And  are  no  more,  but  Freedom  ever  lives. 
And  while  it  lives,  and  while  its  banner  bright 

Is  upward  flung  into  the  golden  sun, 
Within  the  heart  of  every  freeman's  child 

Will  live  that  honored  name,  George  Washington. 

Then  honor  to  the  day  that  gave  him  birth, 

For  it  is  also  Freedom's  natal  day. 
Let  all  who  worship  Freedom's  cause  stand  forth 

And  to  his  memory  their  homage  pay. 
And  let  each  loyal  son  the  work  take  up — 

For,  know  ye,  Freedom's  work  is  never  done — 
And  greater,  grander,  build  the  edifice 

Begun  so  long  ago  by  Washington. 

Arthur  J.  Bur  dick. 


22 


WASHINGTON'S  MONUMENT 

For  him  who  sought  his  country's  good 
In  plains  of  war,  'mid  scenes  of  blood; 
Spent  the  warm  noon  of  life's  bright  day, 
Who  in  the  dubious  battle's  fray, 
That  to  a  world  he  might  secure 
Rights  that  forever  shall  endure, 

Rear  the  monument  of  fame! 

Deathless  is  the  hero's  name. 

For  him,  who,  when  the  war  was  done, 
And  victory  sure,  and  freedom  won, 
Left  glory's  theatre,  the  field, 
The  olive  branch  of  peace  to  wield; 
And  proved,  when  at  the  helm  of  state, 
Though  great  in  war,  in  peace  as  great; 

Rear  the  monument  of  fame! 

Deathless  is  the  hero's  name! 

For  him,  whose  worth,  though  unexpress'd, 
Lives  cherished  in  each  freeman's  breast, 
Whose  name,  to  patriot  souls  so  dear, 
Time's  latest  children  shall  revere, 
Whose  brave  achievements  praised  shall  be, 
While  beats  one  breast  for  liberty ; 

Rear  the  monument  of  fame! 

Deathless  is  the  hero's  name! 

But  why  for  him  vain  marbles  raise? 

Can  the  cold  sculpture  speak  his  praise? 

Illustrious  shade!  we  can  proclaim 

Our  gratitude,  but  not  thy  fame. 

Long  as  Columbia  shall  be  free, 

She  lives  a  monument  of  thee, 

And  may  she  ever  rise  in  fame, 
To  honor  thy  immortal  name! 

Anonymous. 


23 


WASHINGTON'S  TOMB 

Would  we  could  coin  for  thee  new  words  of  praise; 
To  call  thee  only  great,  is  meaningless; 
Thou  didst  the  woes  of  humankind  redress, 
And  the  blest  standard  of  our  freedom  raise; 
Didst  lead  us  safe  o'er  strange,  untrodden  ways, 
And  in  thy  life — that  did  all  truth  express — 
Teach  us  thy  cherished  creed  which  we  confess, 
The  equal  rights  of  men  to  crown  their  days. 
Thou  didst  not  sleep  in  sound  of  city's  toil; 
The  din  of  traffic,  murmur  of  the  mart, 
Are  far  away ;  within  thy  native  soil 
We  leave  thee,  heart  of  honor,  Honor's  heart; 
Not  in  cathedral's  gorgeous  sculptured  gloom, 
But  'neath  thy  much  loved  stars,  a  fitter  tomb. 

Ruth  Lawrence. 


From  "Colonial  Verses"  by  Ruth  Lawrence. 
Included  by  permission  of  the  author  and  Brentano's 


24 


WASHINGTON'S  VOW 

How  felt  the  land  in  every  part 
The  strong  throb  of  a  nation's  heart? 
As  its  great  leader  gave,  with  reverent  awe, 
His  pledge  to  Union,  Liberty,  and  Law! 

That  pledge  the  heavens  above  him  heard, 
That  vow  the  sleep  of  centuries  stirred. 
In  world-wide  wonder  listening  peoples  bent 
Their  gaze  on  Freedom's  great  experiment. 

Thank  God!  the  people's  choice  was  just! 

The  one  man  equal  to  his  trust. 
Wise  without  lore,  and  without  weakness  good, 
Calm  in  the  strength  of  flawless  rectitude. 

Our  first  and  best — his  ashes  lie 

Beneath  his  own  Virginia  sky. 
Forgive,  forget,  oh!  true  and  just  and  brave, 
The  storm  that  swept  above  thy  sacred  grave. 

Then  let  the  sovereign  millions  where 

Our  banner  floats  in  sun  and  air, 
From  the  warm  palm-lands  to  Alaska's  cold, 
Repeat  with  us  the  pledge,  a  century  old! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 


Included  by  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  Company. 

25 


YOUNG  WASHINGTON 
(The  Embassy  to  the  French  Forts,  1  753) 

Tie  the  moccasin,  bind  the  pack, 
Sling  your  rifle  across  your  back, 
Up!  and  follow  the  mountain  track, 

Tread  the  Indian  Trail. 
North  and  west  is  the  road  we  fare 
Toward  the  forts  of  the  Frenchmen,  where 
"Peace  or  War!"  is  the  word  we  bear, 

Life  and  Death  in  the  scale. 

The  leaves  of  October  are  dry  on  the  ground, 
The  sheaves  of  Virginia  are  gathered  and  bound, 
Her  fallows  are  glad  with  the  cry  of  the  hound, 

The  partridges  whirr  in  the  fern; 
But  deep  are  the  forests  and  keen  are  the  foes 
Where  Monongahela  in  wilderness  flows; 
We've  labors  and  perils  and  torrents  and  snows 

To  conquer  before  we  return. 

Hall  and  council-room,  farm  and  chase, 
Coat  of  scarlet  and  frill  of  lace 
All  are  excellent  things  in  place; 

Joy  in  these  if  ye  can. 
Mine  be  hunting-shirt,  knife  and  gun, 
Camp  aglow  on  the  sheltered  run, 
Friend  and  foe  in  the  checkered  sun; 

That's  the  life  for  a  man! 

Arthur  Cuiterman. 


Revised  by  the  author. 

From  "I  Sing  the  Pioneer,"  copyright  1 926,  by  E.  P.  Dutton  &  Com- 
pany.   Included  by  permission  of  the  author. 


26 


Abraham  Lincoln 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 

Born  in  a  hovel,  trained  in  Hardship's  school, 

He  rose  sublime,  a  conqueror  over  all. 

His  life  of  labor,  thought  and  burden-bearing 

Brought  forth  his  kingly  qualities  of  soul. 

Upon  his  lofty  brow  he  wore  those  crowns 

Which  only  come  with  suffering  and  toil, 

The  crowns  of  wisdom,  strength  and  God-like  love 

For  all  mankind,  both  enemies  and  friends. 

His  spirit  still  is  with  us  in  our  need; 

His  work  goes  on  increasing  through  all  time. 

A.  S.  Ames. 


Included  by  permission  of  the  Palmer  Company,  Publishers. 


28 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 

Whence  came  this  man?    As  if  on  the  wings 

Of  the  winds  of  God  that  blew! 
He  moved,  undaunted,  mid  captains  and  kings, 

And,  not  having  learned,  he  knew! 
Was  he  son  of  the  soil,  or  child  of  the  sky? 

Or,  pray,  was  he  both?     Ah  me! 
How  little  they  dreamed,  as  the  storm  rolled  nigh, 

What  he  was,  and  was  to  be! 

When  trembled  the  lamps  of  hope,  or  quite 

Blew  out  in  that  furious  gale, 
He  drew  his  light  from  the  Larger  Light 

Above  him  that  did  not  fail: 
Heaven-led,  all  trials  and  perils  among, 

As  unto  some  splendid  goal 
He  fared  right  onward,  unflinching — this  strong, 

God-gifted,  heroic  soul! 

We  know  him  now — how  noble  his  part, 

And  how  clear  was  his  vision  then! 
With  the  firmest  hand  and  the  kindliest  heart 

Of  them  all — this  master  of  men! 
Of  the  pride  of  power  or  the  lust  of  pelf, 

Oh,  never  a  taint  we  find: 
He  lost  himself  in  the  larger  self 

Of  his  country  and  all  mankind. 

There  are  those  called  great,  or  good,  by  right, 

But  as  long  as  the  long  roll  is, 
Not  many  the  names,  with  the  double  light 

Of  greatness  and  goodness,  like  his. 
Thrice  happy  the  nation  that  holds  him  dear 

Who  never  can  wholly  die, 
Never  cease  to  bestow  of  his  counsel  and  cheer, 

As  the  perilous  years  go  by ! 


29 


For  after  the  trumpets  have  ceased  to  blow, 

And  the  banners  are  folded  away, 
And  the  stress  and  the  splendor  forgotten,  we  know. 

Of  a  truth,  in  that  judgment  day, 
That  whatso'er  else,  in  the  Stream  that  rolls, 

May  sink  and  be  utterly  gone, 
The  souls  of  the  men  who  were  true  to  their  souls 
Forever  go  marching  on! 

There  are  those  whose  like,  it  was  somehow  planned. 

We  never  again  shall  see; 
But  I  would  to  God  there  were  more  in  the  land 

As  true  and  as  simple  as  he, — 
As  he  who  walked  in  our  common  ways, 

With  the  seal  of  a  king  on  his  brow; 
Who  lived  as  a  man  among  men  his  days, 

And  belongs  to  the  ages  now! 

Samuel  Valentine  Cole. 


Included  fcij  permission  of  William  I.  Cole. 

30 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 

This  man  whose  homely  face  you  look  upon, 

Was  one  of  nature's  masterful,  great  men; 
Born  with  strong  arms,  that  unfought  battles  won; 

Direct  of  speech,  and  cunning  with  the  pen. 
Chosen  for  large  designs,  he  had  the  art 

Of  winning  with  his  humor,  and  he  went 
Straight  to  his  mark,  which  was  the  human  heart; 

Wise,  too,  for  what  he  could  not  break,  he  bent. 

Upon  his  back  a  more  than  Atlas-load, 

The  burden  of  the  Commonwealth,  was  laid; 

He  stooped,  and  rose  up  to  it,  though  the  road 

Shot  suddenly  downwards,  not  a  whit  dismayed. 

Hold,  warriors,  councillors,  kings!     All  now  give  place 

To  this  dear  Benefactor  of  the  race. 

Richard  Henry  Stoddard. 


Included  by  permission  of  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN,  THE  MASTER 

We  need  him  now — his  rugged  faith  that  held 
Fast  to  the  rock  of  Truth  through  all  the  days 
Of  moil  and  strife,  the  sleepless  nights;  upheld 
By  very  God  was  he — that  God  who  stays 
All  hero-souls  who  will  but  trust  in  Him, 
And  trusting,  labor  as  if  God  were  not. 
His  eyes  beheld  the  stars,  clouds  could  not  dim 
Their  glory ;  but  his  task  was  not  forgot — 
To  keep  his  people  one;  to  hold  them  true 
To  that  fair  dream  their  fathers  willed  to  them — 
Freedom  for  all;  to  spur  them;  to  renew 
Their  hopes  in  bitter  days;  strife  to  condemn. 
Such  was  his  task,  and  well  his  work  was  done — 
Who  willed  us  greater  tasks,  when  set  his  sun. 

Thomas  Curtis  Clark 


Included  by  permission  of  the  author. 


32 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  WALKS  AT  MIDNIGHT 

It  is  portentous,  and  a  thing  of  state 

That  here  at  midnight,  in  our  little  town 

A  mourning  figure  walks,  and  will  not  rest, 

Near  the  old  courthouse  pacing  up  and  down. 

Or  by  his  homestead,  or  in  shadowed  yards. 

He  lingers  where  his  children  used  to  play, 
Or  through  the  market,  on  the  well-worn  stones 

He  stalks  until  the  dawn-stars  burn  away. 

A  bronzed,  lank  man!     His  suit  of  ancient  black, 
A  famous  high-top  hat  and  plain  worn  shawl 

Make  him  the  quaint  great  figure  that  men  love, 
The  prairie  lawyer,  master  of  us  all. 

He  cannot  sleep  upon  his  hillside  now. 

He  is  among  us; — as  in  times  before! 
And  we  who  toss  and  lie  awake  for  long 

Breathe  deep,  and  start,  to  see  him  pass  the  door. 

His  head  is  bowed.     He  thinks  on  men  and  kings. 

Yea,  when  the  sick  world  cries,  how  can  he  sleep? 
Too  many  peasants  fight,  they  know  not  why, 

Too  many  homesteads  in  black  terror  weep. 

The  sins  of  all  the  war-lords  burn  his  heart. 

He  sees  the  dreadnoughts  scouring  every  main. 
He  carries  on  his  shawl-wrapped  shoulders  now 

The  bitterness,  the  folly  and  the  pain. 

Vachel  Lindsay. 


From  "Collected  Poems"  by  Vachel  Lindsay. 
Included  by  permission  of  The  Macmillan  Company. 


33 


CENOTAPH  OF  LINCOLN 

And  so  they  buried  Lincoln?    Strange  and  vain, 
Has  any  creature  thought  of  Lincoln  hid 
In  any  vault  'neath  any  coffin  lid, 

In  all  the  years  since  that  wild  spring  of  pain? 

'Tis  false — he  never  in  the  grave  hath  lain. 
You  could  not  bury  him  although  you  slid 
Upon  his  clay  the  Cheops  Pyramid, 

Or  heaped  it  with  the  Rocky  Mountain  chain, 

They  slew  themselves; — they  but  set  Lincoln  free, 
In  all  the  earth  his  great  heart  beats  as  strong, 

Shall  beat  while  pulses  throb  to  chivalry, 

And  burn  with  hate  of  tyranny  and  wrong, 

Whoever  will  may  find  him,  anywhere 

Save  in  the  tomb.     Not  there — he  is  not  there. 

James  T.  McKay. 


Included  by  permission  of  Century  Company. 


34 


FROM    "THE  GETTYSBURG   ODE" 

After  the  eyes  that  looked,  the  lips  that  spake 
Here,  from  the  shadows  of  impending  death, 

Those  words  of  solemn  breath, 

What  voice  may  fitly  break 
The  silence  doubly  hallowed,  left  by  him? 
We  can  but  bow  the  head,  with  eyes  grown  dim, 

And  as  a  Nation's  litany,  repeat 
The  phrase  his  martyrdom  hath  made  complete, 
Noble  as  then,  but  now  more  sadly  sweet: 
"Let  us,  the  Living,  rather  dedicate 
Ourselves  to  the  unfinished  work,  which  they 
Thus  far  advanced  so  nobly  on  its  way, 

And  saved  the  perilled  State! 
Let  us,  upon  this  field  where  they,  the  brave, 
Their  last  full  measure  of  devotion  gave, 
Highly  resolve  they  have  not  died  in  vain! — 
That,  under  God,  the  Nation's  later  birth 

Of  Freedom,  and  the  people's  gain 
Of  their  own  Sovereignty,  shall  never  wane 
And  perish  from  the  circle  of  the  earth!" 
From  such  a  perfect  text,  shall  Song  aspire 

To  light  her  faded  fire, 
And  in  wandering  music  turn 
Its  virtue,  simple,  sorrowful  and  stern? 
His  voice  all  elegies  anticipated; 

For,  whatsoe'er  the  strain, 

We  hear  that  one  refrain: 
"We  consecrate  ourselves  to  them,  the  Consecrated!" 

Bayard  Taylor. 


Included  by  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  Company. 

35 


THE   HAND   OF   LINCOLN 

Look  on  this  cast,  and  know  the  hand 

That  bore  a  nation  in  its  hold; 
From  this  mute  witness  understand 

What  Lincoln  was — how  large  of  mold. 

The  man  who  sped  the  woodman's  team, 
And  deepest  sunk  the  plowman's  share, 

And  pushed  the  laden  raft  astream, 
Of  fate  before  him  unaware. 

This  was  the  hand  that  knew  to  swing 

The  axe — since  thus  would  Freedom  train 

Her  son — and  made  the  forest  ring, 

And  drove  the  wedge,  and  toiled  amain. 

Firm  hand,  that  loftier  office  took, 
A  conscious  leader's  will  obeyed, 

And,  when  men  sought  his  word  and  look, 
With  steadfast  might  the  gathering  swayed. 

No  courtier's,  toying  with  a  sword, 
Nor  minstrel's,  laid  across  a  lute; 

A  chief's,  uplifted  to  the  Lord 

When  all  the  kings  of  earth  were  mute! 

The  hand  of  Anak,  sinewed  strong, 
The  fingers  that  on  greatness  clutch; 

Yet,  lo!  the  marks  their  lines  along 

Of  one  who  strove  and  suffered  much. 

For  here  in  knotted  cord  and  vein, 
I  trace  the  varying  chart  of  years; 

I  know  the  troubled  heart,  the  strain, 
The  weight  of  Atlas — and  the  tears. 

Again  I  see  the  patient  brow 

That  palm  erewhile  was  wont  to  press ; 
And  now  'tis  furrowed  deep,  and  now 

Made  smooth  with  hope  and  tenderness. 


36 


For  something  of  a  formless  grace 
This  molded  outline  plays  about; 

A  pitying  flame,  beyond  our  trace, 
Breathes  like  a  spirit,  in  and  out. 

The  love  that  casts  an  aureole 

Round  one  who,  longer  to  endure, 

Called  mirth  to  ease  his  ceaseless  dole, 
Yet  kept  his  nobler  purpose  sure. 

Lo,  as  I  gaze,  the  statured  man, 

Built  up  from  yon  large  hand,  appears; 
A  type  that  nature  wills  to  plan 

But  once  in  all  a  people's  years. 

What  better  than  this  voiceless  cast 

To  tell  of  such  a  one  as  he, 
Since  through  its  living  semblance  passed 

The  thought  that  bade  a  race  be  free. 

Edmund  Clarence  Stedman. 


included  by  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  Company. 

37 


HE  LEADS  US  STILL 

Dare  we  despair?  Through  all  the  nights  and  days 

Of  lagging  war  he  kept  his  courage  true 
Shall  Doubt  befog  our  eyes?    A  darker  haze 

But  proved  the  faith  of  him  who  ever  knew 
That  Right  must  conquer.     May  we  cherish  hate 

For  our  poor  griefs,  when  never  word  nor  deed 
Of  rancor,  malice,  spite,  of  low  or  great, 

In  his  large  soul  one  poison  drop  could  breed? 

He  leads  us  still.     O'er  chasms  yet  unspanned 
Our  pathway  lies;  the  work  is  but  begun; 

But  we  shall  do  our  part  and  leave  our  land 
The  mightier  for  noble  battles  won. 

Here  Truth  must  triumph,  Honor  must  prevail; 
The  Nation  Lincoln  died  for  cannot  fail! 

Arthur  Cuiierman. 


Revised  by  the  author. 

From  "A  Ballad-Maker's  Pack"  by  Arthur  Cuiterman,  published  by 
Harper  Brothers.    Included  by  permission  of  the  author. 


38 


A  HERO 

He  sang  of  joy;  whate'er  he  knew  of  sadness 
He  kept  for  his  own  heart's  peculiar  share: 

So  well  he  sang,  the  world  imagined  gladness 
To  be  sole  tenant  there. 

For  dreams  were  his,  and  in  the  dawn's  fair  shining, 
His  spirit  soared  beyond  the  mounting  lark; 

But  from  his  lips  no  accent  of  repining 
Fell  when  the  days  grew  dark; 

And  though  contending  long  dread  Fate  to  master, 
He  failed  at  last  her  enmity  to  cheat, 

He  turned  with  such  a  smile  to  face  disaster 
That  he  sublimed  defeat. 

Florence  Earle  Coaies. 


Included  by  permission  of  the  author  and  Harper  Brothers. 


39 


HIS   FACE 

They  tell  you  Lincoln  was  ungainly,  plain? 

To  some  he  seemed  so;  true. 
Yet  in  his  look  was  charm  to  gain 

E'en  such  as  I,  who  knew 
With  how  confirmed  a  will  he  tried 
To  overthrow  a  cause  for  which  I  would  have  died. 

The  sun  may  shine  with  naught  to  shroud 

Its  beam,  yet  show  less  bright 
Than  when  from  out  eclipsing  cloud 

Its  pours  its  radiant  light; 
And  Lincoln,  seen  amid  the  shows  of  war 
Clothed  in  his  sober  black,  was  somehow  felt  the  more 

To  be  a  centre  and  a  soul  of  power — 

An  influence  benign 
To  kindle  in  a  faithless  hour 

New  trust  in  the  divine. 
Grave  was  his  visage,  but  no  cloud  could  dull 
The  radiance  from  within  that  made  it  beautiful. 

A  prisoner,  when  I  saw  him  first — 

Wounded  and  sick  for  home — 
His  presence  soothed  my  yearning's  thirst 

While  yet  his  lips  were  dumb; 
For  such  compassion  as  his  countenance  wore 
I  had  not  seen  nor  felt  in  human  face  before. 

And  when,  low-bending  o'er  his  foe, 

He  took  in  his  firm  hand 
My  wasted  one,  I  seemed  to  know 

We  two  were  of  one  Land; 
And  as  my  cheek  flushed  warm  with  young  surprise, 
God's  pity  looked  on  me  from  Lincoln's  sorrowing  eyes. 


40 


His  prisoner  I  was  from  then — 

Love  makes  surrender  sure — 
And  though  I  saw  him  not  again, 

Some  memories  endure, 
And  I  am  glad  my  untaught  worship  knew 
His  the  divinest  face  I  ever  looked  into! 

Florence  Earle  Coales. 


Included  6y  permission  of  the  author  and  Harper  Brothers. 


41 


HUSH'D  BE  THE  CAMPS  TO-DAY 
(May  4,  1865) 

Hush'd  be  the  camps  to-day, 

And  soldiers,  let  us  drape  our  war-worn  weapons, 
And  each  with  musing  soul  retire  to  celebrate 
Our  dear  commander's  death. 

No  more  for  him  life's  stormy  conflicts, 

Nor  victory,  nor  defeat — no  more  time's  dark  events, 

Charging  like  ceaseless  clouds  across  the  sky. 

But  sing,  poet,  in  our  name, 

Sing  of  the  love  we  bore  him — because  you,  dweller  in  camps, 
know  it  truly. 

As  they  invault  the  coffin  there, 

Sing — as  they  close  the  doors  of  earth  upon  him — one  verse, 

For  the  heavy  hearts  of  soldiers. 

Walt  Whitman. 


Included  by  permission  of  David  McKay  Company. 

42 


LINCOLN 

Lincoln!     When  men  would  name  a  man, 
Just,  unperturbed,  magnanimous, 

Tried  in  the  lowest  seat  of  all, 

Tried  in  the  chief  seat  of  the  house — 

Lincoln!     When  men  would  name  a  man 
Who  wrought  the  great  work  of  his  age, 

Who  fought  and  fought  the  noblest  fight, 
And  marshaled  it  from  stage  to  stage. 

Victorious,  out  of  dusk  and  dark, 
And  into  dawn  and  on  till  day, 

Most  humble  when  the  paeans  rang, 
Least  rigid  when  the  enemy  lay 

Prostated  for  his  feet  to  tread — 

This  name  of  Lincoln  will  they  name, 

A  named  revered,  a  name  of  scorn, 
Of  scorn  to  sundry,  not  to  fame. 

Lincoln,  the  man  who  freed  the  slave; 

Lincoln  whom  never  self  enticed; 
Slain  Lincoln,  worthy  found  to  die 

A  soldier  of  his  Captain  Christ. 

Anonymous. 


43 


LINCOLN 

I  knew  the  man.     I  see  him,  as  he  stands 
With  gifts  of  mercy  in  his  outstretched  hands; 
A  kindly  light  within  his  gentle  eyes, 
Sad  as  the  toil  in  which  his  heart  grew  wise; 
His  lips  half-parted  with  the  constant  smile 
That  kindled  truth,  but  foiled  the  deepest  guile; 
His  head  bent  forward,  and  his  willing  ear 
Divinely  patient  right  and  wrong  to  hear: 
Great  in  his  goodness,  humble  in  his  state, 
Firm  in  his  purpose,  yet  not  passionate, 
He  led  his  people  with  a  tender  hand, 
And  won  by  love  a  sway  beyond  command, 
Summoned  by  lot  to  mitigate  a  time 
Frenzied  by  rage,  unscrupulous  with  crime, 
He  bore  his  mission  with  so  meek  a  heart 
That  Heaven  itself  took  up  his  people's  part, 
And  when  he  faltered,  helped  him  ere  he  fell, 
Eking  his  efforts  out  by  miracle. 
No  King  this  man,  by  grace  of  God's  intent; 
No,  something  better,   freeman, — President! 
A  nature,  modeled  on  a  higher  plan, 
Lord  of  himself,  an  inborn  gentleman! 

George  Henry  Bolder. 


From  "In  Praise  of  Lincoln"  by  Williams. 
Included  by  permission  of  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company. 


44 


LINCOLN 

The  hour  was  on  us;  where  the  man? 
The  fateful  sands  unfaltering  ran, 

And  up  the  way  of  tears 

He  came  into  the  years. 

Our  pastoral  captain.     Forth  he  came, 
As  one  that  answers  to  his  name; 
Nor  dreamed  how  high  his  charge, 
His  work  how  fair  and  large, — 

To  set  the  stones  back  in  the  wall 
Lest  the  divided  house  should  fall, 
And  peace  from  men  depart, 
Hope  and  the  childlike  heart. 

We  looked  on  him;  "  'Tis  he,"  we  said, 
"Come  crownless  and  unheralded, 
The  shepherd  who  will  keep 
The  flocks,  will  fold  the  sheep." 

Unknightly,  yes;  yet  'twas  the  mien 
Presaging  the  immortal  scene, 

Some  battle  of  His  wars 

Who  sealeth  up  the  stars. 

Not  he  would  take  the  past  between 
His  hands,  wipe  valor's  tablets  clean, 

Commanding  greatness  wait 

Till  he  stand  at  the  gate; 

Not  he  would  cramp  to  one  small  head 
The  awful  laurels  of  the  dead, 

Time's  mighty  vintage  cup, 

And  drink  all  honor  up. 

No  flutter  of  the  banners  bold 
Borne  by  the  lusty  sons  of  old, 
The  haughty  conquerors 
Set  forward  to  their  wars; 


45 


Not  his  their  blare,  their  pageantries, 
Their  goal,  their  glory,  was  not  his; 

Humbly  he  came  to  keep 

The  flocks,  to  fold  the  sheep. 

The  need  comes  not  without  the  man; 
The  prescient  hours  unceasing  ran, 

And  up  the  way  of  tears 

He  came  into  the  years. 

Our  pastoral  captain,  skilled  to  crook 
The  spear  into  the  pruning  hook, 

The  simple,  kindly  man, 

Lincoln,  American. 

John  Vance  Cheney. 


Included  fcp  permission  of  The  Independent. 


46 


LINCOLN 

FATE  struck  the  hour! 

— A  crisis  hour  of  Time. 
The  tocsin  of  a  people  clanging  forth 
Thro'  the  wild  South  and  thro'  the  startled  North 
Called  for  a  leader,  master  of  his  kind, 
Fearless  and  firm,  with  clear  foreseeing  mind; 
Who  should  not  flinch  from  calumny  or  scorn, 
Who  in  the  depth  of  night  could  ken  the  morn; 

Wielding  a  giant  power 

Humbly,  with  faith  sublime. 
God  knew  the  man  His  sovereign  grace  had  sealed; 
God  touched  the  man,  and  Lincoln  stood  revealed! 

Jane  L.  Hardy. 


Included  by  permission  of  The  Outlook- 


47 


LINCOLN 

Would  I  might  rouse  the  Lincoln  in  you  all, 
That  which  is  gendered  in  the  wilderness 
From  lonely  prairies  and  God's  tenderness. 
Imperial  soul,  star  of  a  weedy  stream, 
Born  where  the  ghosts  of  buffaloes  still  dream, 
Whose  spirit  hoof-beats  storm  above  his  grave. 
Above  that  breast  of  earth  and  prairie-fire — 
Fire  that  freed  the  slave. 

Vachel  Lindsay. 


From  "The  Litany  of  the  Heroes"  in  "Collected  Poems"  by   Vachel 

Lindsay. 
Included  by  permission  of  the  author  and  The  Macmillan  Co. 


48 


LINCOLN 

A  peaceful  life, — just  toil  and  rest — 

All  his  desire; — 
To  read  the  books  he  liked  the  best 

Beside  the  cabin  fire — 
God's  word  and  man's; — to  peer  sometimes 

Above  the  page,  in  smouldering  gleams, 
And  catch,  like  far  heroic  rhymes, 

The  monarch  of  his  dreams. 

A  peaceful  life; — to  hear  the  low 

Of  pastured  herds, 
Or  woodman's  axe  that,  blow  on  blow, 

Fell  sweet  as  rhythmic  words. 
And  yet  there  stirred  within  his  breast 

A  fateful  pulse  that,  like  a  roll 
Of  drums,  made  high  above  his  rest 

A  tumult  in  his  soul. 

A  peaceful  life !    .    .    .    They  hailed  him  even 

As  one  was  hailed 
Whose  open  palms  were  nailed  toward  Heaven 

When  prayers  nor  aught  availed. 
And,  lo,  he  paid  the  selfsame  price 

To  lull  a  nation's  awful  strife 
And  will  us,  through  the  sacrifice 

Of  self,  his  peaceful  life. 

James  Whitcomb  Riley. 


From  "Home  Folks."     Copyright   1900. 

Used  by  special  permission  of  the  publishers.   The  Bobbs-Merrill  Co. 


4" 


LINCOLN 

A  martyred  Saint,  he  lies  upon  his  bier, 

While,  with  one  heart,  the  kneeling  nation  weeps, 

Until  across  the  world  the  knowledge  sweeps 

That  every  sad  and  sacrificial  tear 

Waters  the  seed  to  patriot  mourners  dear, 

That  flowers  in  love  of  Country.     He  who  reaps 

The  gift  of  martyrdom,  forever  keeps 

His  soul  in  love  of  man,  and  God's  own  fear. 

Great  Prototype  benign  of  Brotherhood — 

Incarnate  of  the  One  who  walked  the  shore 

Of  lonely  lakes  in  distant  Galilee; 

With  patient  purpose  undismayed  he  stood, 

Steadfast  and  unafraid,  and  calmly  bore 

A  Nation's  Cross  to  a  new  Calvary! 

Corinne  Roosevelt  Robinson. 


Included  fcjj  permission  of  the  author  and  Charles  Scrihners  Sons. 

50 


LINCOLN   LEADS 

Across  the  page  of  history, 

As  in  a  looking-glass, 
Or  on  a  moving-picture  screen, 

The  nation's  heroes  pass; 
With  sword  and  mace  and  pen  they  pace 

In  epaulets  and  braid, 
And  some,  with  ruffles  at  their  wrists, 

In  linen  fine  arrayed. 

But  at  the  long  procession's  head, 

In  loose,  ill-fitting  clothes, 
A  lanky  woodsman  with  an  axe 

Upon  his  shoulder  goes; 
In  every  patriotic  heart 

The  figure  lean  and  tall 
Is  shrined  beside  the  starry  flag, 

For  Lincoln  leads  them  all. 

Minna  Irving. 


Included  by  permission  of  the  author. 

51 


THE   LINCOLN   STATUE 
(Gutzon  Borglum,  Sculptor) 

A  man  who  drew  his  strength  from  all, 

Because  of  all  a  part; 
He  led  with  wisdom,  for  he  knew 

The  common  heart. 

Its  hopes,  it  fears  his  eye  discerned, 

And,  reading,  he  could  share. 
Its  griefs  were  his,  its  burdens  were 

For  him  to  bear. 
Its  faith  that  wrong  must  sometime  yield, 

That  right  is  ever  fight, 
Sustained  him  in  the  saddest  hour, 

The  darkest  night. 

In  patient  confidence  he  wrought, 
The  people's  will  his  guide, 

Nor  brought  to  his  appointed  task 
The  touch  of  pride. 

The  people's  man,  familiar  friend, 
Shown  by  the  sculptor's  art 

As  one  who  trusted,  one  who  knew 
The  common  heart. 

W.  F.  Collins. 


Included  b\)  permission  of  the  author. 


52 


LINCOLN,  THE   MAN  OF  THE   PEOPLE 

When  the  Norn  Mother  saw  the  Whirland  Hour 
Greatening  and  darkening  as  it  hurried  on, 
She  left  the  Heaven  of  Heroes  and  came  down 
To  make  a  man  to  meet  the  mortal  need. 
She  took  the  tried  clay  of  the  common  road — 
Clay  warm  yet  with  the  genial  heat  of  Earth, 
Dasht  through  it  all  with  a  strain  of  prophecy; 
Tempered  the  heap  with  thrill  of  human  tears; 
Then  mixt  a  laughter  with  the  serious  stuff. 
Into  the  shape  she  breathed  a  flame  to  light 
That  tender,  tragic,  ever-changing  face; 
And  laid  on  him  a  sense  of  the  Mystic  Powers, 
Moving — all  husht — behind  the  mortal  vail. 
Here  was  a  man  to  hold  against  the  world, 
A  man  to  match  the  mountains  and  the  sea. 

The  color  of  the  ground  was  in  him,  the  red  earth; 

The  smack  and  tang  of  elemental  things; 

The  rectitude  and  patience  of  the  cliff; 

The  good-will  of  the  rain  that  loves  all  leaves; 

The  friendly  welcome  of  the  wayside  well; 

The  courage  of  the  bird  that  dares  the  sea; 

The  gladness  of  the  wind  that  shakes  the  corn; 

The  pity  of  the  snow  that  hides  all  scars; 

The  secrecy  of  streams  that  make  their  way 

Under  the  mountain  to  the  rifted  rock; 

The  tolerance  and  equity  of  light 

That  gives  as  freely  to  the  shrinking  flower 

As  to  the  great  oak  flaring  to  the  wind — 

To  the  grave's  low  hill  as  to  the  Matterhorn 

That  shoulders  out  the  sky.     Sprung  from  the  West, 

He  drank  the  valorous  youth  of  a  new  world. 

The  strength  of  virgin  forests  braced  his  mind, 

The  hush  of  spacious  prairies  stilled  his  soul, 

His  words  were  oaks  in  acorns;  and  his  thoughts 

Were  roots  that  firmly  gript  the  granite  truth. 


53 


Up  from  log  cabin  to  the  Capitol, 

One  fire  was  on  his  spirit,  one  resolve — 

To  send  the  keen  ax  to  the  root  of  wrong, 

Clearing  a  free  way  for  the  feet  of  God, 

The  eyes  of  conscience  testing  every  stroke, 

To  make  his  deed  the  measure  of  a  man, 

He  built  the  rail-pile  as  he  built  the  State, 

Pouring  his  splendid  strength  through  every  blow; 

The  grip  that  swung  the  ax  in  Illinois 

Was  on  the  pen  that  set  a  people  free. 

So  came  the  Captain  with  the  mighty  heart; 
And  when  the  judgment  thunders  split  the  house, 
Wrenching  the  rafters  from  their  ancient  rest, 
He  held  the  ridgepole  up,  and  spikt  again 
The  rafters  of  the  Home.     He  held  his  place — 
Held  the  long  purpose  like  a  growing  tree — 
Held  on  through  blame  and  faltered  not  at  praise — 
Held  on  in  calm  rough-hewn  sublimity, 
And  when  he  fell  in  whirlwind,  he  went  down 
As  when  a  lordly  cedar,  green  with  boughs, 
Goes  down  with  a  great  shout  upon  the  hills, 
And  leaves  a  lonesome  place  against  the  sky. 

Edwin  Markham. 


Revised  by  the  author. 

Copyright  1919.    Included  by  permission  of  the  author. 


54 


THE   MAN   OF   PEACE 

What  winter  holiday  is  this? 

In  Time's  great  calendar, 
Marked  with  the  rubric  of  the  saints, 

And  with  a  soldier's  star, 
Here  stands  the  name  of  one  who  lived 

To  serve  the  common  weal, 
With  humour,  tender  as  a  prayer 

And  honour  firm  as  steel. 

No  hundred  hundred  years  can  dim 

The  radiance  of  his  birth, 
That  set  unselfish  laughter  free 

From  all  the  sons  of  earth. 
Unswerved  through  stress  and  scant  success, 

Out  of  his  dreamful  youth 
He  kept  an  unperverted  faith 

In  the  almighty  truth. 

Born  in  the  fulness  of  the  days, 

Up  from  the  teeming  soil, 
By  the  world-mother  reared  and  schooled 

In  reverence  and  toil, 
He  stands  the  test  of  all  life's  best 

Through  play,  defeat,  or  strain; 
Never  a  moment  was  he  found 

Unlovable  nor  vain. 

Fondly  we  set  apart  this  day, 

And  mark  this  plot  of  earth 
To  be  forever  hallowed  ground 

In  honour  of  his  birth, 
Where  men  may  come  as  to  a  shrine 

And  temple  of  the  good, 
To  be  made  sweet  and  strong  of  heart 

In  Lincoln's  brotherhood. 

Bliss  Carman. 


Included  fcj>  permission  of  the  author. 

55 


THE   MASTER 

A  flying  word  from  here  and  there 
Had  sown  the  name  at  which  we  sneered, 
But  soon  the  name  was  everywhere, 
To  be  reviled  and  then  revered: 
A  presence  to  be  loved  and  feared, 
We  cannot  hide  it,  or  deny 
That  we,  the  gentlemen  who  jeered, 
May  be  forgotten  by  and  by. 

He  came  when  days  were  perilous 
And  hearts  of  men  were  sore  beguiled; 
And  having  made  his  note  of  us, 
He  pondered  and  was  reconciled. 
Was  ever  master  yet  so  mild 
As  he,  and  so  untamable  ? 
We  doubted,  even  when  he  smiled, 
Not  knowing  what  he  did  so  well. 

He  knew  that  undeceiving  fate 

Would  shame  us  whom  he  served  unsought; 

He  knew  that  he  must  wince  and  wait — 

The  jest  of  those  for  whom  he  fought; 

He  knew  devoutly  what  he  thought 

Of  us  and  of  our  ridicule; 

He  knew  that  we  must  all  be  taught 

Like  little  children  in  a  school. 

We  have  a  glamour  to  the  task 

That  he  encountered  and  saw  through, 

But  little  of  us  did  he  ask, 

And  little  did  we  ever  do. 

And  what  appears  if  we  review 

The  season  when  we  railed  and  chaffed? 

It  is  the  face  of  one  who  knew 

That  we  were  learning  while  we  laughed. 


56 


The  face  that  in  our  vision  feels 
Again  the  venom  that  we  flung, 
Transfigured  to  the  world  reveals 
The  vigilance  to  which  we  clung. 
Shrewd,  hallowed,  harassed,  and  among 
The  mysteries  that  are  retold, 
The  face  we  see  was  ever  young, 
Nor  could  it  ever  have  been  old. 

For  he,  to  whom  we  have  applied 
Our  shopman's  test  of  age  and  worth, 
Was  elemental  when  he  died, 
As  he  was  ancient  at  his  birth: 
The  saddest  among  kings  of  earth, 
Bowed  with  a  galling  crown,  this  man 
Met  rancor  with  a  crytic  mirth, 
Laconic — and  Olympian. 

The  love,  the  grandeur,  and  the  fame 
Are  bounded  by  the  world  alone; 
The  calm,  the  smouldering,  and  the  flame 
Of  awful  patience  were  his  own: 
With  him  they  are  forever  flown 
Past  all  our  fond  self-shadowings, 
Wherewith  we  cumber  the  Unknown 
As  with  inept  Icarian  wings. 

For  we  were  not  as  other  men: 
'Twas  ours  to  soar  and  his  to  see. 
But  we  are  coming  down  again, 
And  we  shall  come  down  pleasantly; 
Nor  shall  we  longer  disagree 
On  what  it  is  to  be  sublime, 
But  flourish  in  our  perigee 
And  have  one  Titan  at  a  time. 

Edivin  Arlington  Robinson. 


Included  b$  permission  of  the  author  and  Charles  Scribners  Sons. 

57 


NANCY  HANKS 

Prairie  child, 

Brief  as  dew, 
What  winds  of  wonder 

Nourished  you? 

Rolling  plains 

Of  billowy  green; 
Far  horizons, 

Blue,  serene; 

Lofty  skies 

The  slow  clouds  climb, 
Where  burning  stars 

Beat  out  the  time: 

These,  and  the  dreams 
Of  fathers  bold — 

Baffled  longings, 
Hopes  untold — 

Gave  to  you 

A  heart  of  fire, 
Love  like  deep  waters, 

Brave  desire. 

Ah,  when  youth's  rapture 
Went  out  in  pain, 

And  all  seemed  over, 
Was  all  in  vain? 

O  soul  obscure, 

Whose  wings  life  bound, 
And  soft  death  folded 

Under  the  ground. 

Wilding  lady, 

Still  and  true, 
Who  gave  us  Lincoln 

And  never  knew: 

58 


To  you  at  last 

Our  praise,  our  tears, 
Love  and  a  song 

Through  the  nation's  years. 

Mother  of  Lincoln, 

Our  tears,  our  praise; 

A  battle-flag 

And  the  victor's  bays! 

Harriet  Monroe. 


Revised  by  the  author. 

Included  by  permission  of  the  author  and  The  Macmillan  Company. 


59 


O   CAPTAIN!    MY   CAPTAIN 

O  Captain!  my  Captain!  our  fearful  trip  is  done, 
The  ship  has  weather'd  every  rack,  the  prize  we  sought  is  won, 
The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exulting, 
While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  grim  and  daring; 
But  O  heart!  heart!  heart! 

O  the  bleeding  drops  of  blood, 

Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

O  Captain!  my  Captain!  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells; 
Rise  up — for  you  the  flag  is  flung — for  you  the  bugle  trills. 
For  you  bouquets  and  ribbon'd  wreaths — for  you  the  shores 

a-crowding, 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces  turning; 
Here,  Captain!  dear  father! 

This  arm  beneath  your  head! 

It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck, 
You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 

My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale  and  still, 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor  will, 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  closed  and 

done, 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  comes  in  with  object  won; 
Exult,  O  shores,  and  ring,  O  bells! 
But  I  with  mournful  tread, 

Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

Walt  Whitman. 


Included  by  permission  of  David  McKay  Company. 


60 


ON  A  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

This  was  a  man  of  mighty  mould 

Who  walked  erewhile  our  earthly  ways, 

Fashioned  as  leaders  were  of  old 
In  the  heroic  days! 

Mark  how  austere  the  rugged  height 

Of  brow — a  will  not  wrought  to  bend 

Yet  in  the  eyes  behold  the  light 
That  made  the  foe  a  friend! 

Sagacious  he  beyond  the  test 

Of  quibbling  schools  that  praise  or  ban; 
Supreme  in  all  the  broadest,  best, 

We  hail  American. 

When  bronze  is  but  as  ash  to  flame, 
And  marble  but  as  wind-blown  chaff, 

Still  shall  the  lustre  of  his  name 
Stand  as  his  cenotaph! 

Clinton  Scollard. 


Included  by  permission  of  the  author. 


61 


OUR  MARTYR-CHIEF 

Such  was  he,  our  Martyr-Chief, 

Whom  late  the  Nation  he  had  led, 

With  ashes  on  her  head, 
Wept  with  the  passion  of  an  angry  grief: 
Forgive  me,  if  from  present  things  I  turn 
To  speak  what  in  my  heart  will  beat  and  burn, 
And  hang  my  wreath  on  his  world-honored  urn. 

Nature,  they  say,  doth  dote, 

And  cannot  make  a  man 

Save  on  some  worn-out  plan, 

Repeating  up  by  rote; 
For  him  her  Old  World  moulds  aside  she  threw, 

And,  choosing  sweet  clay  from  the  breast 

Of  the  unexhausted  West, 
With  stuff  untainted  shaped  a  hero  new, 
Wise,  steadfast  in  the  strength  of  God,  and  true. 

How  beautiful  to  see, 
Once  more  a  shepherd  of  mankind  indeed, 
Who  loved  his  charge,  but  never  loved  to  lead; 
One  whose  meek  flock  the  people  joyed  to  be, 

Not  lured  by  any  cheat  of  birth, 

But  by  his  clear-grained  human  worth, 
And  brave  old  wisdom  of  sincerity! 

They  knew  that  outward  grace  is  dust; 

They  could  not  choose  but  trust 
In  the  sure-footed  mind's  unfaltering  skill, 

And  supple-tempered  will 
That  bent  like  perfect  steel  to  spring  again  and  thrust. 

His  was  no  lonely  mountain-peak  of  mind, 
Thrusting  to  thin  air  o'er  our  cloudy  bars, 

A  sea-mark  now,  now  lost  in  vapors,  blind; 

Broad  prairie  rather,  genial,  level-lined, 

Fruitful  and  friendly  for  all  human  kind, 
Yet  also  nigh  to  heaven  and  loved  of  loftiest  stars. 


62 


Great  captains,  with  their  guns  and  drums, 

Disturb  our  judgment  for  the  hour, 
But  at  last  silence  comes; 

These  all  are  gone,  and  standing  like  a  tower, 
Our  children  shall  behold  his  fame, 
The  kindly-earnest,  brave,  foreseeing  man, 

Sagacious,  patient,  dreading  praise,  not  blame, 

New  birth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  American. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


Included  by  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  Company. 


63 


PRESIDENT   LINCOLN'S   GRAVE 

Lay  his  dear  ashes  where  ye  will, — 
On  southern  slope  or  western  hill; 
And  build  above  his  sacred  name 
Your  proudest  monument  of  fame; 
Yet  still  his  grave  our  hearts  shall  be; 
His  monument  a  people  free! 

Sing  sweet,  sing  low! 

We  loved  him  so! 
His  grave  a  nation's  heart  shall  be, 
His  monument  a  people  free! 

Wave,  prairie  winds!  above  his  sleep 
Your  mournful  dirges,  long  and  deep; 
Proud  marble!  o'er  his  virtues  raise 
The  tribute  of  your  glittering  praise; 
Yet  still  his  grave  our  hearts  shall  be; 
His  monument  a  people  free! 

Sing  sweet,  sing  low; 

We  loved  him  so! 
His  grave  a  nation's  heart  shall  be; 
His  monument  a  people  free! 

So  just,  so  merciful,  so  wise, 
Ye  well  may  shrine  him  where  he  lies; 
So  simply  good,  so  great  the  while 
Ye  well  may  praise  the  marble  pile; 
Yet  still  his  grave  our  hearts  shall  be; 
His  monument  a  people  free! 

Sing  sweet,  sing  low; 

We  loved  him  so! 
His  grave  a  nation's  heart  shall  be; 
His  monument  a  people  free! 

Caroline  A.  Mason. 


64 


TO    BORGLUM'S    SEATED    STATUE    OF 
ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

Alone,  upon  the  broad  low  bench,  he  sits, 

From  carping  foes  and  friends  alike  withdrawn; 

With  tragic  patience  for  the  spirit  dawn 

He  waits,  yet  through  the  deep-set  eyes  hope  flits 

As  he  the  back  unto  the  burden  fits. 

Within  this  rugged  man  of  brains  and  brawn 

The  quiv'ring  nation's  high  powered  currents  drawn, 

As  waves  of  love  and  kindness  he  transmits. 

O  prairie  poet,  prophet,  children's  friend! 

Great-brained,  great-willed,  great-hearted  man  and  true, 

May  we,  like  thee,  in  prayerful  patience  plod 

With  courage  toward  the  wished  for,  peaceful  end! 

May  we  thy  helpful  friendliness  renew, 

Thou  war  worn  soul  communing  with  thy  God! 

Charlotte  B.  Jordan. 


Included  by  permission  of  the  Sun. 

65 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 
(1865) 

O,  slow  to  smite  and  swift  to  spare, 

Gentle  and  merciful  and  just! 
Who,  in  the  fear  of  God,  didst  bear 

The  sword  of  power — a  nation's  trust. 

In  sorrow  by  thy  bier  we  stand, 

Amid  the  awe  that  hushes  all, 
And  speak  the  anguish  of  a  land 

That  shook  with  horror  at  thy  fall. 

Thy  task  is  done — the  bond  are  free; 

We  bear  thee  to  an  honored  grave, 
Whose  noblest  monument  shall  be 

The  broken  fetters  of  the  slave. 

Pure  was  thy  life;  its  bloody  close 

Hath  placed  thee  with  the  sons  of  light, 

Among  the  noble  host  of  those 

Who  perished  in  the  cause  of  right. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


From  the  "Collected  Works"  by  William  Cullen  Bryant. 
Included  by  permission  of  D.  Appleton  &  Company. 


66 


TOLLING 

(April  15,  1865) 

Tolling,  tolling,  tolling! 

All  the  bells  of  the  land! 
Lo,  the  patriot  martyr 

Taketh  his  journey  grand! 
Travels  into  the  ages, 

Bearing  a  hope  how  dear! 
Into  life's  unknown  vistas, 

Liberty's  great  pioneer. 

Tolling,  tolling,  tolling! 

See,  they  come  as  a  cloud, 
Hearts  of  a  mighty  people, 

Bearing  his  pall  and  shroud. 
Lifting  up,  like  a  banner, 

Signals  of  loss  and  woe; 
Wonder  of  breathless  nations, 

Moveth  a  solemn  show. 

Tolling,  tolling,  tolling! 

Was  it,  O  man  beloved, 
Was  it  thy  funeral  only 

Over  the  land  that  moved? 
Veiled  by  that  hour  of  anguish, 

Borne  into  the  rebel  rout, 
Forth  into  utter  darkness, 

Slavery's  curse  went  out. 

Lucy  Larcom. 


Included  by  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  Company. 

67 


YOUNG  LINCOLN 

Men  saw  no  portents  on  that  night 
A  hundred  years  ago.     No  omens  flared 
Above  that  rail-built  cabin  with  one  door, 
And  windowless  to  all  the  peering  stars. 
They  laid  him  in  the  hollow  of  a  log, 
Humblest  of  cradles,  save  that  other  one — 
The  manger  in  the  stall  at  Bethlehem. 

No  portents!  yet  with  whisper  and  alarm 
The  Evil  Powers  that  dread  the  nearing  feet 
Of  heroes  held  a  council  in  that  hour; 
And  sent  three  fates  to  darken  that  low  door 
To  baffle  and  beat  back  the  heaven-sent  child. 
Three  were  the  fates — gaunt  Poverty  that  chains, 
Gray  Drudgery  that  grinds  the  hope  away, 
And  gaping  Ignorance  that  starves  the  soul. 

They  came  with  secret  laughters  to  destroy. 
Ever  they  dogged  him,  counting  every  step. 
Waylaid  his  youth  and  struggled  for  his  life. 
They  came  to  master,  but  he  made  them  serve. 
And  from  the  wrestle  with  the  destinies, 
He  rose  with  all  his  energies  aglow. 

For  God,  upon  whose  steadfast  shoulders  rest 
These  governments  of  ours,  had  not  forgot. 
He  needed  for  His  purposes  a  voice, 
A  voice  to  be  a  clarion  on  the  wind, 
Crying  the  word  of  freedom  to  dead  hearts, 
The  word  the  centuries  had  waited  for. 

So  hidden  in  the  West,  God  shaped  His  man. 
There  in  the  unspoiled  solitudes  he  grew, 
Unwarped  by  culture  and  uncramped  by  creed; 
Keeping  his  course  courageous  and  alone, 
As  goes  the  Mississippi  to  the  sea. 
His  daring  spirit  burst  the  narrow  bounds, 
Rose  resolute;  and  like  the  sea-called  stream, 
He  tore  new  channels  where  he  found  no  way. 


68 


The  tools  were  his  first  teachers,  sternly  kind. 
The  plow,  the  scythe,  the  maul,  the  echoing  axe, 
Taught  him  their  homely  wisdom  and  their  peace. 
He  had  the  plain  man's  genius — common  sense, 
Yet  rage  for  knowledge  drove  his  mind  afar; 
He  fed  his  spirit  with  the  bread  of  books, 
And  slaked  his  thirst  at  all  the  wells  of  thought. 

But  most  he  read  the  heart  of  common  man, 
Scanned  all  its  secret  pages  stained  with  tears, 
Saw  all  the  guile,  saw  all  the  piteous  pain; 
And  yet  could  keep  the  smile  about  his  lips, 
Love  and  forgive,  see  all  and  pardon  all; 
His  only  fault,  the  fault  that  some  of  old 
Laid  even  on  God — that  he  was  ever  wont 
To  bend  the  law  to  let  his  mercy  out. 

Edwin  Markham. 


Revised  by  the  author. 

Included  by  permission  of  the  author. 


69 


AN  ADDITIONAL  LIST  OF  POEMS  WITH 
SOURCES 

The  following  is  an  addition  list  of  poems  which  it  has 
not  been  possible  to  include  in  this  volume.  Some  of  the  poems 
are  to  be  found  in  sources  other  than  those  given. 


Washington 

Great  Washington 

In  "For  Days  and  Days" 

Lines 

In  "Washington's  Birthday" 
A  Little  Boy  and  a  Cherry  Tree 

In  "For  Days  and  Days" 

The  Minuet 

In  "Along  the  Path" 

Washington 

In  "For  Days  and  Days" 

Washington 

In  "Washington's  Birthday" 
Washington 

In  "For  Days  and  Days" 

Washington 

In  "Washington's  Birthday" 

Washington  at  Trenton 

In  "Poems  of  American  History' 

Washington's  Birthday 

In  "Washington's  Birthday" 

Washington's  Monument 
In  "Leaves  of  Grass" 

Washington's  Name  in  the  Hall  of 
fame 
In  "Washington's  Birthday" 

When  Our  Land  Was  New 
In  "For  Days  and  Days" 


Annette  Wynne 
William  Cullen  Bryant 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge 

Robert  Bridges 

William  Cullen  Bryant 
Annette  Wynne 

Will  Carleton 

Richard  Watson  Gilder 

Margaret  E.  Sangster 

Walt  Whitman 

Margaret  E.  Sangster 
Annette  Wynne 


7C, 


Lincoln 


Abraham  Lincoln 

In  "In  Praise  of  Lincoln" 

Emancipation  Group 

In  "Memory  of  Lincoln" 

A  Farmer  Remembers  Lincoln 
In  "The  Book  of  Lincoln" 

Hymn 

In  "In  Praise  of  Lincoln" 

Lincoln 

In  "Lincoln's  Birthday" 
Lincoln 

In  "In  Praise  of  Lincoln" 

Lincoln 

In  "In  Praise  of  Lincoln" 

Lincoln 

In  "Lincoln's  Birthday 

Lincoln 

In  "For  Days  and  Days" 

On  a  Bronze  Medal  of  Lincoln 
In  "The  Book  of  Lincoln" 

On  Saint-Gauden's  Statue  of 
Lincoln 
In  "The  Book  of  Lincoln" 

On  the  Life-Mask  of  Abraham 
Lincoln 
In  "Days  and  Deeds" 

To  the  Spirit  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
In  "Lincoln's  Birthday" 


Margaret  E.  Sangster 

John  Creenleaf  Whitiier 

Witter  Banner 

Jones  Very 

Paul  Lawrence  Dunbar 
S.  Weir  Mitchell 

Wilbur  Dick  Nesbit 

J.  T.  Trowbridge 

Annette  Wynne 

Frank  D.  Sherman 

Frederick  Burton  Eddy 

Richard  Watson  Gilder 
Richard  Watson  Gilder 


71 


